


The Desk and other stories.

by MaryCat55



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen, Thunderbirds - Freeform, Thunderbirds are Go - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:17:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4785386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryCat55/pseuds/MaryCat55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short fics about Grandma Tracy and her family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was nothing soothing about the quiet stillness. It allowed her mind to wander, to remember, to dwell on things she wanted to forget.

She remembered the desk under her hands. It felt worn, smoothed by time and the caresses of three generations of hands. She wondered if she would outlive the third like she’d outlived the other two.

When her husband had brought the desk into their home, she’d stared in horror. It was huge and ugly and she’d demanded he take it back, but he’d smiled that smile that made her knees weak and heart flutter in her chest and the desk had stayed. She smiled at the memory of their tiny son sitting under it playing with his toy airplanes, launching them from his father’s feet and knees while he paid the bills and conducted business.

When he’d died, she wouldn’t look at the desk. She’d shut the door to his study and didn’t look at it again until her son had asked for it to put in his office. She’d given it to him gladly. His memories were better than hers. His grief had been for his wife. Yes, he’d grieved for his father but not in the way she did.

She ran her hands over the many dings and scratches the desk had collected over the years. The move to Tracy Island had been especially rough on it. Her son had apologized over and over for the damage and she’d smiled and said, “No problem. The desk is yours.”

She touched each device her son had installed as International Rescue, his dream, his legacy, had taken shape. He’d given it a new purpose and she was proud.

Now he was gone and all that remained was the desk. Her oldest grandson occupied it now and she was fearful that he would be taken from her as well. She blinked back tears. Tears she fought against every time any of her grandsons left on a rescue.

Taking off her glasses, she wiped her eyes with a tissue. A quick swipe of the tissue across the lenses removed any evidence of her grief. Then she laid her head down burying her face in her arms imagining that she could smell Grant and Jeff. Whiskey and cigars. She was glad when Jeff had given them up. Grant never did. She never questioned the whiskey. Sometimes it was necessary.

A hand touched her shoulder and she looked up, blinking. It was dark. When had that happened? She stared at her oldest grandson in confusion. His expression was concerned.

“Grandma, are you okay?” He knelt down next to her. “I think the cookies burned…again.”

She blushed and touched his hand. “I guess I lost track of time… Are they bad?”

Scott nodded. “Yeah. Do we have to eat them?”

Oh, no, dear. Not this time.”

“That’s good because I threw them away.”

“You did what?” She swatted his shoulder and then hugged him tightly, thankful that he’d come home again, all in one piece. “I forgive you…this time.”


	2. Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble based on the prompt Earth.

Earth

Ruth Tracy stood at the edge of the grave. In her hand, dirt, warm, damp, smelling of spring even though it was still winter. Maybe it would always be winter. She couldn’t imagine spring ever coming. She couldn’t imagine the sun ever shining again. She brought the soil close to her face and inhaled the musky smell. The smell of planting, of farms, of home. Home without him. Without her husband. A home without her, the daughter she’d welcomed into her family only to be torn apart by death. 

She lowered her hand and looked upon her son and his sons, the youngest, unaware of the depth of his loss, slept in his father’s arms. The others clung to each other, all too young to have to deal with the loss. A few friends gathered around them trying to offer comfort where none could be found. 

Ruth gazed at the scene around her and then looked at the piece of paper in her other hand. She raised it up and blinked back tears. 

“Grant…” she choked and swallowed and began again. “Grant left these instructions to be read at his funeral. I never…never thought that I’d have to read it. I told him he was being silly. “ She looked down at her feet, sniffled quietly for a moment. “I wish he were here so I could tell how silly he was being. “ She sighed and raised the paper again and began to read…

“A poem by Richard Greene

I've taken in recent years to thinking about my funeral and have decided to make one paramount request: play jolly music at that ritual.  
What good does it do to heap on dirges or other mournful melodies?   
I won't be there to be gratified by the grieving and if I could tune in I'd be happier to see those present have some relief.  
Dixieland would be nice.  
Joplin would be fine.  
Something by Fats Waller would certainly do.  
Those early jazzmen knew what they were up to when they set about making funeral marches swing.  
So swing me away, please, with a rousing tune.”

 

When she finished, she crumpled the paper and nodded at the quartet of musicians off to the side. They began to play starting slowly but picking up the pace. As When the Saints Go Marching In played, Ruth smiled slightly and tossed the crumpled paper and the handful of dirt into the open grave. She blew a kiss after it before turning to the small group and with a wave of her hands, encouraged them to sing and march around the small family cemetery.


	3. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short, breezy tale of Grandma Tracy and Virgil based on the prompt Fire.

Fire

“I’m ready for the steaks,” Virgil shouted towards the kitchen. He poked at the glowing coals in the giant barbeque Jeff Tracy had brought to the island when they’d moved there. The coals flared up with each poke and he couldn’t help but think of his father. This had always been his job. He’d decide it was time to BBQ some steaks and everybody would sit back and let him at it. Then Grandma would step in and add the fixings: salad, veggies to add to the grill and a dessert. 

There was no response from the kitchen, and he tried to see through the glass walls to determine what the delay was. It had been Grandma’s idea, after all, to put some steaks on the grill and she’d assigned him the task of getting the BBQ cleaned and readied. She should’ve been ready when he was.

He had to grin at what he saw. Grandma was “arguing” with MAX, Brains’ robot. Grandma argued a lot with the machine, but she also seems to get a lot of pleasure from dealing with it. She waved a large fork in Virgil’s general direction. That seemed to settle things as MAX turned around and she placed the platter of raw meat on his back. Soon, MAX was making his way towards the pool. 

Once MAX was on his way, Grandma turned and, with a grin, waved at Virgil. Things were okay again. He poked at the coals, rearranging them for the best distribution of heat. Dad hadn’t been particular. As long as the coals were hot things were fine. Virgil approached it like an engineer, calculating the best arrangement allowing the steaks to cook evenly. 

Virgil smiled slightly at the thought. Dad was the flame, the fire behind International Rescue. He burned hot supplying the energy behind everyone who worked for him. Brains and Virgil arranged the coals for the best results. Scott kept the coals hot under his brothers, encouraging them to perform their best. Surprisingly, John became the flame that kept everyone moving including Scott. It had been a surprise because Dad had, on the surface, been the one to keep things coordinated. John had always been in the background until Dad had disappeared and it because obvious that John had done a lot more than just relay messages. 

MAX arrived with the steaks and Virgil plopped them on the grill. He turned his head at footstep behind him. Grandma was there with the salad and the vegetables to grill. He grinned at her and she grinned back, her expression a little confused but accepting of the gesture. Where did Grandma fit? He watched her move from brother to brother, offering suggestions, kind words, a pat on the shoulder or a hug. He blinked as he realized she was the flame that kept the fire burning. She kept Dad from giving up. And when he’d disappeared, she’d kept her grief to herself and made sure International Rescue had kept going.

He realized that he’d known this but had never voiced it and had never thanked her for it. Well, he would remedy that. Still holding his fork, he trotted over to her and enveloped her in a bear hug. For a moment she didn’t respond and then she wrapped her arms around him as best she could and hugged back. 

“What’s this for?” she asked, muffled against his chest. 

“No reason and for everything. I don’t tell you enough how much I… we all appreciate you.” 

She broke the hug and smiled up at him. “You big goof, the steaks are going to burn.”

He shook his head. “There’s always time for hugs, Grandma.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you but you’re right.” She hugged him tightly and then swatted his arm. “Now go tend to the dinner. I don’t want the rest of them blaming me if the meat is overdone.”

He chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her and went back to the BBQ.

“Cheeky devil,” she winked at him before heading back to the kitchen for the rest of the dinner.


	4. Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grandma Tracy has a request. For the prompt Air.

“Teach me to fly?” Ruth Tracy can pull off puppy dog eyes as well as any of her grandsons and try as they might, they’re helpless to resist. They try though.

“Grandma, why?” Virgil.

“It’s dangerous.” Scott.

“Aren’t you kind of old?” Gordon. 

“I want nothing to do with it.” John.

“Sure, Grandma. I’d love to teach you.” Alan.

She gave Gordon a look but Virgil took care of the dope slap. All four turned to Alan and frowned at him. Ruth chuckled at the identical looks and winked at Alan. 

“Well, why not?” Alan countered. “And she’s not old, Gordy. She’s well maintained.”

“Thank you, Alan. I appreciate the sentiment. And I’m of sound mind in case any of you were wondering. I’ve always wanted to learn to fly. Your grandfather wouldn’t teach me, though and when your father was born, I just gave up on the idea. But now… it’s time. I want to learn.”

Scott started to shake his head again but a light tap on his arm by Virgil quelled him. “Okay, but let me do it.”

“But, but…” Alan pouted. “I offered first.”

Ruth looked at Scott through her bifocals, a lift of the head and a glance down her nose. “He did and I accept his offer.”

Alan grinned and jumped up. “We’ll use the Tiger Moth. It’s the easiest plane in the world to fly. It practically flies itself.”

Scott blinked and looked to his brothers for some sort of support. Virgil shrugged and Gordon just grinned at him. “You all trust Alan in the air with Grandma?”

Virgil nodded. “Yes, in fact, I do. And you know why.”

Scott sighed. He did know why but he wouldn’t say it in front of Alan. His ego was big enough already. “Fine. But…I’ll take care of the “ground school.” A good, basic understanding of flight is important.”

Alan nodded. “I hate the boring stuff anyway. While you’re doing that, I can do maintenance on Tiger and get her all ready.”

Nobody argued and Ruth grinned. She wishes she’d asked sooner.


	5. Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued from Air. Things don't always go as expected but you deal with it.

“I thought you said it practically flew itself.” 

Alan Tracy looked at his grandmother. “Normally, yeah but this isn’t a normal situation.”

Ruth Tracy looked down at the water. It was definitely getting closer. 

“Keep her nose up, Grandma.” Alan didn’t even have to yell or use the radio to be heard over the wind. It was the only sound the small plane made once the engine had cut out and the propeller had stopped spinning. 

“I’m doing my best, kiddo.” 

Alan had been right, the Tiger Moth did practically fly herself…with an engine. Right now she was just a giant glider. The only thing keeping her up was the wind and Ruth’s hands on the stick while her grandson worked to restart the engine. 

He glanced up and around. His piloting instincts were the best Ruth had ever seen and she’d seen a lot. She trusted him implicitly, but she didn’t see how they were going to avoid getting wet.

“Turn to starboard, Grandma. Flying into the wind will give us some time.” She didn’t answer, following his instructions instantly. “I’m going to call John.”

“No chance we’ll make it back to the island, then, huh?”

He didn’t answer her right away and she could hear him bringing John and Thunderbird 5 up to date. “No, Grandma. The wind is blowing in the wrong direction. If we try to glide there, we’ll end up in the water in a big hurry. John is tracking us and Virgil will get to us just as easily out here. Though… I think we’re going to get wet anyway.”

She nodded and struggled with the stick as the wind buffeted them. Glancing down she could tell the water was getting closer. She had a feeling there was nothing she or Alan could do to stop the small bi-plane’s inexorable decent to the ocean. “You said you’d fixed her up.”

“Yes, Grandma and I did. I even had Brains give her a once over.” He looked stricken. “I wouldn’t risk your life. Ever. I don’t understand why all the fuel dumped.” 

“Those things happen, I guess.”

“But they don’t happen to me,” Alan sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

“They happen to everybody, kiddo. We’re not even in that much trouble, right? Virgil is on his way. We’ll barely have time to get our toes wet, you’ll see.”

Alan sighed and nodded. “I just… I just wanted you to be happy, Grandma. An emergency water landing wasn’t even on my checklist.”

“Hey, it’s good practice. And I’d rather do it with you backing me up.”

“You’re the best, Grandma,” Alan replied.

“You’re just realizing that?” 

Alan giggled then grew serious as the water approached. “Hope you’re ready. Keep the nose up as best you can and the wings level. Just like landing on the runway. Nice and smooth.”

“Gotcha… I can do this… are you sure you don’t want to do it?”

Alan shook his head. “I have your back. Nose up, nose up! Flaps up, that’s it, slowing nicely.” 

They both jerked forward when the tail dragged in the water, slowing them suddenly. Ruth managed to keep control and the Tiger Moth settled into the water. 

She blinked and lifted her goggles. “I did it!”

“You sure did. That was amazing.” Alan lifted his goggles and reached forward to pat Ruth on the shoulder.

“I forgot to ask you something.”

“What’s that, Grandma?”

“How long can we float here?”

Alan chuckled. “Long enough, Grandma, long enough.”


	6. Bread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doyouheartheangrymen and Artisticrainey from tumblr have head canons that tickled me. Virgil loves to bake and John and Virgil are twins. Madilayn wrote a lovely piece called Baking. All those things inspired this.

**Bread**

“Whatcha doin’, Grandma?” 

Ruth glanced down at the two heads, one dark haired, one red haired, both staring curiously up at her. She smacked the dough and flipped it over sending a cloud of flour in all directions. 

“I’m making bread, Virgil.”

Virgil coughed and John sneezed. “I thought bread came from the store,” Virgil said.

“Bread does come from the store but it’s made in giant bakeries by machines.” She touched Virgil’s nose leaving a white smear. “But…” She wiped his nose off with her apron. “You can also make one loaf at a time.”

“Neat…” He rubbed his nose.

John studied the dough and the flour and all the bowls and spoons and measuring cups littering the counter. “Why?” He wrinkled his nose. “It smells funny, too.”

Ruth smiled at him. “Because sometimes it feels good to feel the warm dough come alive in your hands. Plus it’s good for getting rid of stress.” She pounded on the dough and turned it and pounded again. “And that’s the yeast smell. Yeast is alive. It eats some of the things in the dough and then burps. That makes the dough rise.”

John frowned and sniffed but Virgil was fascinated. “Can we hear it burp?” 

“No but you can see what happens when it does.” She turned the dough a few more times before dumping it into a clean bowl and covered it. “Now we’ll put it where it’s nice and warm and when we come back, you’ll see how much it has burped.”

“Yay!”

“Now, help me clean up.”

“Awww.” Virgil’s lip stuck out in a pout but he picked up the measuring cups, and John grabbed a wooden spoon. They obediently put them in the sink. “Now what?”

“Come back in about an hour and we’ll do the next part.”

“Okay!” Virgil grabbed John’s and pulled him out of the kitchen.

Exactly an hour later, Virgil reappeared without John.

“Where’s your brother?”

“He’s reading. Said he was at a good part and didn’t want to stop. Now what?”

Ruth recovered the dough from atop the refrigerator and placed it on the counter. She removed the cloth with a flourish. 

“Wow, Grandma, it got huge.” The boy’s eyes bugged.

“It did. The yeast had some good eats and some good burps. Now we’ll punch it down. Stick your hand all the way in.”

Virgil blinked but did as instructed. His small hand disappeared into the dough and he grinned as it deflated. “Awesome, Grandma. It’s full of bubbles.”

“It sure is.” Ruth finished punching it down and dumped it back on the floured counter. “You can help me with this part.” She pulled a piece of the dough off and placed it in front of Virgil. “Get some flour on your hands and start kneading. Push and pull and fold until you feel all the bubbles pop. Isn’t that nice?”

Virgil nodded. His kneading wasn’t as vigorous as his grandmother’s but it did the job. “Grandma? Where’d you learn to do this?” 

“My mother taught me and believe it or not, her grandmother taught her. And now I’m teaching you. Maybe, when you grow up, you’ll teach your children.”

“Do you think I’ll have kids?”

“That’s up to you, kiddo.”

He looked thoughtful. “I’m going to have a dozen kids and teach them all everything I know.”

Ruth laughed. “Be sure your partner agrees, Virgil. Some people don’t like those kinds of surprises.” She winked at him and he grinned back at her.

“Okay.” He patted his piece of dough. “Now what?”

“We shape it so it’ll fit in the pan and then let it rise again for a bit and then into the oven. And then you can have some.”

Sometime later, John came in search of his brother. He found him sitting at the table eating a slab of warm bread slathered in real butter. The smell was amazing and John’s stomach growled.

Virgil laughed at the sound and pushed a slice of bread towards him. “It’s the best thing ever, Johnny. I don’t think I’ll ever eat store bought bread again.”

OOO

Years later, Virgil found himself staring at an empty shot glass. The alcohol hadn’t helped. Sleep was eluding him. In fact, every time he closed his eyes, the electrical schematics to Rescue 2 paraded across the inside of his eyelids. He didn’t have John to talk to because he was stuck up in orbit with his own battles trying to get Rescue 5 online. His father was on the mainland with his youngest brother and Grandmother, and Scott was so pissy that he was avoiding him as much as possible. And Brains. Forget about him, he just brought more problems to his attention. What were they thinking? What was dad thinking? There was no way they could get this crazy idea off the ground. It all made him want to put his fist through a wall. And he’d been the calm one, the one that settled everybody else down. 

The thought of hitting something hard stirred a memory. A memory of pounding something soft, something that was permissible to pound. Then the smell memory hit him. Fresh baked bread. He hadn’t baked anything in years but the act of baking bread had always calmed him down and relaxed him. Boy, did he need relaxing.

He didn’t even need to think about it. He was on his feet and going through the pantry and cupboards looking for everything he’d need. A few hours later, feeling much better, he went in search of Scott and Brains bearing a gift of fresh baked bread and real butter.


End file.
